Alchemisland

Every sense mine excited

Sentbydivine scentlines

Will guide my neon-heightened

Triumph’s nigh on silent march through Irish Zion.

Pirate-scion my corrupted blood a must-hunt lion.

Around the shadow-marched marshine back

Of a formidable Hawksmoor church Nazarene-lacking, bricked black

I rip an apple bong of sapping, pongy exhaust before heading back inside

I can lack a lot but I cannot lack ganj or drachma

Somewhere more suited to Dracula, stopping for a fussless zoot

At safe remove

Anyone who’d

Be enough fool to

Put a tip through

To a boy in blue.

Took a trip or two then tripped on the carpet reentering the room

Every eye on me like penguin playtime at the zoo, dripping in my suit

The drip was dripping, it was seeping through and the guests were sniffing

The air because the smell of cannabis was there. Drink needed, stiff

As an octogenarian typist’s wrist, or the oars of a rust-ruined skiff.

My disguise being famine child thin took nobody surprised. I surmise

At day’s heavy-eyed dying that, as a matter of fact

It drew more eyes to my drooping cheap glue blemishes than it dissuaded.

Unpersuadable, she; her chessgame patience and sage’s wit-caged rapier.

Her arrival easy to forecast as a snowglobe’s inclemencies.

Her smoke yellowed teeth spoke a bitter lemonsqueeze

I needed to hear in order to see.

Her Colt her code

Her stole beneath

A cuirass cold to cheek

One presses close in hopes that another would be pleased

I kneel to kiss her feet, showing papal fealty.